Requiem

葬

You stare out of the taxi's rolled up window, which is now being bombarded by the rain.... towering skyscrapers and neon signs stare down at you, and your nugatory existence. There's a nip in the air; you pull your black overcoat tighter around yourself and let out a sigh. The hat on your head is barely hanging on, and sleep tries to overwhelm you. The chauffeur in the livery hasn't spoken a word, and there's some viennese waltz playing on the radio. It's nearly 3 am and it's raining; the roads are deserted, illumined by neon signs, massive skyscrapers and yellow street lamps.

"Please stop, right there, by the green telephone-booth"- you blurt out, exhausted. The taxi pulls over, and you step out in the rain, under your umbrella. And then, the Toyota Crown speeds off into the misty drizzle; you think it's rather strange that the chauffeur forgot to collect the taxi fare.

You now stand on the side walk of a broad avenue; it is usually bustling with people but under the veil of the rain and forlorn street lamps, it's desolate. Shops and cafés peppered with neon signs line its sides though they are closed now and most of the neon signs are switched off.

Anyways, you huddle into a slimy, dimly lit claustrophobic alley between to massive buildings, stomping briskly through the shallow puddles of rain in your ankle-high boots. The solitary lamp in the alley flickers at times, throwing a shadow of darkness in the alley and on your deadpan self. You steadily keep walking into the dark, narrow alley as the gloomy, mundane petrichor hangs about in the air. You finally approach your destination:- a door; a black door on the side of the building.

You knock thrice. No one answers the door. You knock again.
A frail, old lady opens the door. She blankly stares into the air.
"Good evening- if I may say so", you blurt out. The lady doesn't answer, she's still staring out of the door blankly. The building smells rather mouldy and the dim amber lamps give off a quaint vibe. You get in and hang your wet umbrella and your hat on a hook nearby.....the lady is still staring out of the open door. Moments later she closes it, and disappears behind a drape muttering something to herself.
"How strange-" you think to yourself as you climb up a rather narrow, creaky, spiral staircase.You get into the mezzanine and face- yet another door.

You discreetly slide open the latch and walk into the room. The room is dimly light, by a couple of candles and is no bigger than an average hotel room; the sepia wallpaper is tattered and nearly peeling off. There were rows of chairs with people in them; dressed in black overcoats, and their heads cast downwards. Amidst the deafening silence of the room, all that can be heard is Chopin's Marche Funèbre from his second piano sonata, played by someone on a piano in a far corner of the room. The room was weirdly- icy cold.

You walk down the aisle between the rows of silent spectators and arrived in front of a coffin set on a table. You fish out a pocket watch from your overcoat and set it down on the table- it seems to have stopped and the glass lookes cracked. You proceed to open the coffin. You undid the latch and lifted the lid with a creak.

You opened it- to see yourself in it, in eternal sleep, dead.